How is a feeling?

Perhaps my previous post, which aptly describes how I've been feeling of late, even if it is in Engrish, possibly even because it is in Engrish, was a premonition.

My walk in the park today was no walk in the park. Nor was it the run I was hoping to have just four days before the 5K. Equipped with the nice, empty lungs of someone who'd found the right asthma medication, having just heated the old-lady hip that collapsed Saturday (and landed me in the hospital Sunday morning with a hand out for percoset), I was ready to run.

Dogs in toe, I got a few yards and was feeling good. I felt good enough to turn around and continue on the other side of the park when my young pup's favorite dog pack approached. But the moment we got on the new path, my dogs decided to have playtime and ran, full speed ahead, into the backs of my legs, knocking me to the pavement, making me scream, "You fucking stupid dogs" loud enough to hear over at the church, where my daughter was learning and my husband was teaching, loud enough for a runner stretching on the bridge to hear and go on stretching (useless, the way she was doing it), and loud enough for a the father of my husband's student to cause him to turn around and make sure I was all right, sprawled out there on the ground like a bag of skin.

It's just a slightly scraped left palm, a gently bruised calf, and a future candidate for hip replacement.

And so the air, which is cool and clear and crisp, in both my lungs and the outside world, will have to, for now, come in more slowly and evenly than I had hoped.

Or, in a sudden burst of optimistic stupidity, I could put some heat on the thing and attempt this once again, at 10:00, after I relax in front of "The People's Court," reminding myself that my future could be there, instead of here, in this comfortable (if lavish) home with a family that loves me.

Still, I wallow in the land of teddy bears with bandages. I dwell in Hello No Future.